The best 21st century nonfiction books about the Holocaust

As a nonfiction storyteller who often explores the Holocaust and as the director of the Holocaust, Genocide, and Human Rights Education Initiative at Penn State, I’m sometimes asked to recommend books about the Third Reich’s murder of 6 million Jews and millions of Romany, homosexuals, people with disabilities, and others. A New History is the tome I often suggest. In a deceivingly simple linear approach, Laurence Rees, who conducted 25 years of primary research to construct this historical account, methodically walks us through the Holocaust’s origins and unfolding, from Hitler’s novice-Nazi days to the Allies’ death-camp liberations. But Rees avoids neat narratives, peeling away complex layers of madness. For instance, he demonstrates that boiled-over antisemitism extended far beyond Germany’s borders in the 1930s and that the Final Solution to the Jewish Question was messier than we may imagine. Only a lucid voice like Rees’ can clue us into and clear up the messiness.

I met Hadley Freeman the year before she published her well-researched, well-written recounting of her French-Jewish family history. A Guardian columnist at the time who now writes for The Sunday Times, she interviewed me about my forthcoming documentary feature, Cojot, which follows a French Holocaust survivor (Michel Cojot) on a quest to kill his father’s Nazi executioner. Cojot’s best friend was Freeman’s dad. So, when House of Glass came out, I dove right in, hoping to learn more about Ron Freeman. This nonfiction book—which is easy to read yet, like many stories that encompass the Holocaust, hard to fathom—gave me insight into the French-Jewish experience before, during, and after World War II. Thus, it helped me better understand Cojot, who, in his pursuit of justice, revived an identity lost during the years he spent pretending to be Christian to stay alive. I believe all House of Glass readers can find such rewarding entry points.

My Polish-Hasidic grandfather, Ozer Grundman, survived several Nazi labor and death camps in his teens but succumbed to cancer in his early 70s. Reading about another Central European Jew (Otto Warburg) who outlasted Hitler, albeit through radically different means, made me wish my saba had been familiar with this German biochemist’s research. Had he heard the Nobel Laureate’s argument that metabolic factors propel cancer’s growth and spread, my saba might have cut down on his unchecked sugar consumption. Then again, despite the recent reevaluation and, in many cases, reappreciation of Warburg’s work, the jury is still out on sugar’s portrayal as the puppet master of America’s No. 2 killer. What is certain is Sam Apple’s assured Ravenous portraiture of a puzzling protagonist who capitalized on the Nazis’ cancer fears to such an extent that he carried on his experiments at Berlin’s Kaiser Wilhelm Society throughout World War II and lived openly with a male lover. 

While I direct Penn State’s Holocaust Education Initiative and produce and write documentaries, books, and articles that involve the Holocaust, I am not an expert on this topic. I am a student of it. Studying the Holocaust for 30 years, I gaze in awe at the frontiers that remain to be explored. X Troop offers one of the latest examples. Prior to reading it, I’d never heard of the German and Austrian Jews who became British commandos during World War II. One of the lessons I picked up: We should follow these men’s examples of turning weaknesses—in their case, coming from enemy territories and facing suspicion and persecution—into strengths. This is far from a perfect book. As I read it, I found myself time and again wishing it showed more and told less. In several key spots, I wanted to better understand what these commandoes did and how they did. Yet Leah Garrett does a wonderful job explaining the why, which serves as a terrific starting point for further exploration.

Making Cojot, a documentary about a Parisian business consultant who hunted down former Gestapo commander Klaus Barbie, prompted me to closely examine Vichy. This French national administration went out of its way to appease its Nazi occupiers during World War II. But the more answers I dug up, the more questions I had. Verdict on Vichy filled in many of the gaps. For instance, it provided a possible explanation as to why the judges presiding over Barbie’s 1987 trial in Lyon granted his request to sit out the proceedings, thus depriving his victims’ families the opportunity to look him in the eyes as they recounted some of his crimes against humanity. The judges might have pounced at the chance to hide Barbie, who was reportedly ready to spill the beans about French leaders such as then-President François Mitterrand who collaborated with the Nazis. Michael Curtis went to great lengths and took major risks to uncover the truth, and our world is better off for it.